


Thy Dear Virtue Hate

by syzygied



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: (no one is surprised), (v slight), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bottom Kim Jongin | Kai, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Consensual Infidelity, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, HELPPP THE AMOUNT OF COME TAGS, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Prince Kim Jongin | Kai, Prince Oh Sehun, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Slight feminization, Snowballing, Spit Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, Unrealistic Dialogue for the setting, both are pretty slight, kind of???, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syzygied/pseuds/syzygied
Summary: Princes Jongin and Sehun have lots of sex despite the fact they hate each other
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 29
Kudos: 160
Collections: sEXOctober - sEXOrgasmic's Kinktober 2020





	Thy Dear Virtue Hate

**Author's Note:**

> This fic doesn't really need a summary honestly it's literally just Royalty Hate Sex™️.
> 
> Dedicated to my darling Amanda/[sailorninis](https://twitter.com/sailorninis) on Twitter!I love u so much angel thank u for being ur wonderful self! 💖💖💖
> 
> Written for #sEXOctober2020. The primary kink I was going for was hate sex but it kind of turned into role reversal too a little bit, and also a smorgasbord of other things. Please heed the tags.
> 
> Title taken from Shakespeare's Sonnet #142, and beta'd by the lovely [CallisaRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallisaRose/pseuds/CallisaRose) as always <3

"Prince Jongin!" 

Jongin hears the voice call out behind him and lengthens his steps, glancing over his shoulder. He hates that voice. Or perhaps he should say he hates the owner of that voice. The voice itself is… pleasant, so long as Jongin doesn’t focus on the words it's saying. 

Jongin quickens his steps further and wrenches open a random door branching off of the corridor he’s running down. He doesn’t recognize it, but then again Jongin doesn’t recognize half of the doors and hallways in the palace. The building is, frankly speaking, colossal; a sprawling giant of sand-colored marble that looms over the land for miles around and takes up far more space than any one building has any business doing. 

Jongin has spent the entire morning waiting for a chance to slip away from his Royal Guard, who are tasked with escorting him around the palace 24 hours a day. Which is something Jongin wouldn’t necessarily mind, except for the fact that they’re horribly dull people, and take their duty so seriously they seem unable to even attempt to be Jongin’s friends. What kind of friend responds with only “yes, My Prince,” or “no, My Prince,” whenever Jongin attempts to hold conversations with them? 

Jongin had been thinking, perhaps, he would slip away to the palace gardens and take a nap under one of the fruit trees, lulled by the sweet scent of the flowers and the hum of the bees. If Sehun catches him, in addition to being subjected to the unpleasantness that is Sehun’s personality, Jongin will likely also be found by his Guard and forced to attend yet another boring council meeting that lags on for hours on end. 

“Hello, My Prince.” Sehun doesn’t bother to bow to him, but Jongin has come to not expect that anymore. Why should it matter that Jongin will soon be the king of the entire country? Such things do not matter, apparently. 

“Hello Sehun,” says Jongin, trying to work as much cold disdain into his words as possible. 

“You look breathtaking today.” Sehun gives him a smile that most would mistake as genuine. “Blue is a lovely color on you, and this shade,” he gestures to the pale silk of Jongin’s robes, “is simply exquisite.” 

"Thank you,” Jongin replies stiffly. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell whether Sehun is being genuine or not. Did he mean the compliment? Likely not, but Jongin can’t find any other meaning to the words, any insult hidden among them. Do the robes look foolish? He feels suddenly self-conscious about his clothing and resists the urge to fidget. _Kings should not fidget,_ he reminds himself. 

“If I may be so bold,” Sehun continues, as though he has ever asked for Jongin’s permission to do anything, “Breathtaking is not enough to describe your beauty. You are simply ravishing. Wars have been launched over sights far less fair.”

He is too bold. Jongin feels his temper flare up in the characteristic hot annoyance that Sehun always seems to so easily ignite in him. _Ravishing_. Who would dare call a future king ravishing? 

"Your wife is probably looking for you," snaps Jongin, and then chastizes himself for sounding bitter over the fact. "I'm sure she wouldn't be thrilled to know you follow your crown prince around all day harassing him, like some drunken, washed-out palace jester." 

“Who could ever fault me for attempting to pay my allegiance to the future King?” Sehun responds easily. “I am a member of this court, am I not? If anything I’m sure she would be pleased to know that I am embracing my familial duty so wholeheartedly. ” 

“Of course,” says Jongin, “that’s not the point—I simply meant—you should not be so open with your—” he glances around and lowers his voice, “ _complements._ Both of us know they are false, of course, but rumors spread more quickly than wildfire. You wouldn’t want any to get back to her.”

"Your sister is well aware of my proclivity for men," says Sehun airily, “if that’s what you’re talking about. We’ve come to an understanding of sorts. I am permitted to seek companionship from others in the court, so long as I am discrete about it, and so is she. Honestly, I think she probably brings more men back to her bed than I do." 

Jongin wrinkles his nose in distaste. "I don't need to hear about my sister’s... habits," he sniffs, "or whatever kind of arrangement the two of you have worked out. It's none of my business." 

"Of course," drawls Sehun, with another one of his infuriating, cocksure smiles. "Except it was your business last night, wasn't it? And the night before that, and then last week, and the day you returned from your hunting trip last—mmph" Sehun's voice becomes muffled as Jongin slams his palm over his lips and presses him against the wall. Somehow, Sehun still has the gall to look smug with only his eyes showing. Jongin thinks about how satisfying it would be to knock his infuriating head back against the stone wall of the castle corridor and feels his fingers itch with desire. He doesn't. It would be very unfitting of him, as the crown prince, to murder his sister’s husband, who also happens to be the prince of Aveia, the Kingdom to the North, and therefore the key piece in the truce maintained by the two countries. And yet… there is something about Sehun that makes the idea seem truly, uniquely tempting. 

Jongin considers the ramifications of starting a war with their Northern allies. Numerous, expensive, and violent. Disastous. It would be a terrible start to his reign to have instigated an unwinnable war before he's even been officially crowned. He takes a deep breath through his nose and attempts to steady his pulse. _Not worth it_ he thinks, _definitely not worth it._

“Leave me alone." Jongin resumes walking down the corridor, wishing desperately he actually had somewhere important to be. Sehun follows him. 

"Why must you always take it as a sign of ill will when I approach you?" says Sehun, "perhaps I just missed having you spread out under me." 

"Quiet!" Jongin hisses through his teeth, feeling panic roil up in his chest at Sehun's words. "How dare you! Do you have any idea what the consequences could be if someone were to—" he glances around to make sure no one is within hearing distance, but the corridor is still blessedly deserted, "if someone were to hear the words you so carelessly throw out?" 

"There's no one here." Sehun rolls his eyes. He does that often, and yet the sight never fails to make Jongin's insides feel like they're being consumed by hot magma. 

“But there could be!” Jongin hisses back. Sehun doesn’t think. There is so much riding on Jongin’s shoulders—the Kingdom, the truce between their two countries—Jongin is not sure what the exact ramifications of their affair being discovered would be, but he is sure they would be highly unpleasant for both of them. 

And yet Jongin seems to be the only one who worries about such things. It is strange, but Sehun doesn’t seem to fear discovery in the slightest. Or perhaps it is just that he doesn’t care. And it hurts because discovery means that, on top of everything else, their affair will have to end. Which is apparently of no consequence to Sehun either, but which Jongin secretly, desperately fears. He craves this; craves Sehun. Hates Sehun for it. Doesn’t know how to stop. 

“Leave me alone,” he says again and feels proud of himself for almost meaning it. 

“Of course.” Sehun smiles. “Just as soon as I’m finished.” Does he—is he talking about what Jongin thinks he is? Surely they couldn’t—not in broad daylight, in the middle of this hallway. And yet Jongin’s body is not opposed to the idea, even if his mind is. He feels heat gathering in his stomach, concentrating, traveling down lower… 

“Finished with what, exactly? Haven’t you tormented me enough?” 

“Perhaps I have,” says Sehun, “it seems you’re due an apology now,” and he kisses Jongin right on the mouth.  


Jongin bites him. He feels his teeth sink into Sehun’s lower lip, hard, and clamps down for only a second before letting go. Perhaps Sehun will hit him now. Or pull his hair. Or shove him down to the floor and climb on top of him, looming over him with his impossibly broad shoulders, and press Jongin’s legs apart and just—Jongin lets out a whimper at the thought, and feels himself becoming hard. He hopes Sehun doesn’t notice. 

“Open your eyes.” Jongin shakes his head, eyes still clenched shut. 

“Jongin—Prince Jongin, please open your eyes.” Sehun never says please. Jongin cracks one eye open warily, and then finds that it’s too hard to see anything, and opens the other one too. Sehun’s lip is bleeding. Jongin feels vindicated by the sight. He’s never made Sehun bleed before. 

“You bit me,” says Sehun, but his tone conveys no hurt. Jongin blinks. 

“I did.” Jongin bites his lip, and then steels himself for retribution. 

“Unbelievable,” says Sehun, and then he laughs. Not just a chuckle either, loud, booming, high-pitched laughter, roaring, and it’s so good that it makes Jongin want to laugh too. He bites the inside of his cheek instead because he still hates Sehun. Even when he laughs. 

“Why did you bite me?” asks Sehun, once he’s stopped laughing. Jongin doesn’t have an answer. Or rather he has an answer, but can’t tell Sehun. Can’t tell anyone about the way he desperately craves retribution. 

“I just wanted to,” he mutters and hopes that Sehun doesn’t press the matter. 

“Are you going to bite me again?” he asks instead, “if I kiss you now? I won’t lie and say that I didn’t enjoy it at all, but I would prefer it didn’t happen again.” 

“No,” says Jongin, and he feels so relieved Sehun is letting it go that he allows himself to be as demure as he wants. “I won’t.” 

“Good.” Sehun smiles and kisses him again. This time, Jongin melts into it. He lets himself step back so that his back is pressed against the wall, and enjoys the way Sehun moves with him, filling up the space Jongin just created, until there’s no space at all, just Jongin pressed between the hard stone behind him and Sehun’s firm chest in front of him in a way that’s oh, so pleasant. Sehun’s hands move to his hips and grab, harshly, and it makes even more heat pool in Jongin’s belly. Jongin feels like a candle, like he’s heating and burning and melting under Sehun’s fingers as they trace featherlight touches across his stomach. One of Sehun’s hands sneaks up to rub over one of Jongin’s nipples, hardening it and Jongin doesn’t know when the top portion of his robes became undone but he can’t bring himself to care as Sehun rubs and toys with his nipples. Sehun moves his lips down to press sweet, indulgent kisses along his neck, and Jongin should close his mouth but he can’t, like his jaw is stuck open in silent euphoria. He can’t moan, not yet, not so easily, but Sehun’s fingers are nimble and clever and _good_ , and his mouth is warm and gentle, and if Jongin grinds forward just right he can feel the swell of Sehun’s half-hard cock pressing against his through their robes. It’s so good. Jongin feels like he’ll burst into flame from the raw pleasure of it. 

“Turn around,” Sehun murmurs, and Jongin can’t even find it within himself to argue, not when he feels this good, lulled and warm and aching from Sehun’s touches. He turns himself around and braces his hands against the wall and arches his back. 

Sehun gathers up his robes, shoves them impatiently up until Jongin can feel the cool air on his ass and lower back. He feels hot and dizzy at the idea that someone might come in and see him like this, with his robes off his shoulders and bunched around his waist, held on only by his sash, back arched, hole presented on display like a common whore.

“Mm,” Sehun hums, and he rubs at Jongin’s rim with the pads of both his thumbs. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” Jongin slurs out because it’s the truth. Missed him, misses him always, dreadfully, all-consumingly, to the point where he would not know what to do with himself or who he would be if he did not spend his hours missing Sehun. 

“No,” says Sehun, and the derision in his voice is piercingly clear, “not you. I missed _this_.” He presses the pad of his thumb against Jongin’s rim, pushing just lightly enough that it doesn’t pop inside. Of course. Jongin is such a fool. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, feeling his cheeks flush with heat. “If you’re going to do something, do it. Some of us have responsibilities to attend to.” 

“Fine." Sehun's grin is feral. “I will.” And he presses three fingers into Jongin’s body in one smooth thrust. 

Jongin yelps. God, he hates Sehun. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but there’s definitely some discomfort and a dull burning sensation. 

“You’re still so loose,” Sehun murmurs, and the tone of wonder in his voice makes Jongin’s stomach jolt in a strange sort of pride. No matter how much Sehun may hate him as a person, his resentments never extend to Jongin’s body. It’s not much, in the grand scheme of things, but as long as it keeps Sehun coming back to his bed at night Jongin will not complain. 

“Is this from me?” Sehun coos, “from last night? Have you become so accustomed to taking my cock your body is always ready for it?” He prods gently with the pads of his fingers, and Jongin whimpers when they rub over his prostate. It’s so good. The only thing that would make it better would be if it was Sehun’s cock, but it seems like he hasn’t deigned to give Jongin that yet. Sehun always seems to have some kind of condition; Jongin must earn his right to be fucked, must humble and humiliate himself. If only Jongin knew what it was… but it’s so hard to _think_ when everything feels so good. 

“Tell me, Jongin. Are you just made for my cock? Or did you let your council of shriveled up advisors take turns with you this morning?” 

There it is. 

Sehun is not jealous. Jongin wishes sometimes, shamefully, that he would be, but he knows that Sehun wouldn’t care if he brought someone else to his bed to have him. The problem is that Jongin doesn’t _want_ anyone else, and somehow Sehun seems to know this, and enjoys lording it over his head and reminding him of it at every opportunity he gets. 

“Well?” Sehun rubs over his prostate again, teasing, taunting, 

“No,” Jongin mutters, and his ears feel red-hot from the humiliation of it all, “it’s just you. It’s—” he stops, takes a breath, “it’s always just you. Only you.” 

Sehun gives him a soft kiss on the back of the neck in response, and then he’s pushing in. 

It hurts. Jongin opens his mouth to wail, but reconsiders at the last moment and takes a little hiccoughing breath instead. It _hurts_. Sehun is horrible. But Jongin is also grateful that Sehun is horrible; that Sehun doesn’t treat him like a precious object that must be protected at all costs, even if he resents him for it too.

_“That hurt,”_ Jongin snaps. He hopes he sounds angry, instead of whiny, but he’ll take sounding whiny over ever letting Sehun know how much he likes it. That would be even worse than the pain, truly unbearable. 

“Relax,” Sehun murmurs, “I could feel how loose you were with my fingers.” 

“I’m not,” says Jongin, even though he is. Sehun is just big. Every first thrust in always feels like a stretch. 

“You are,” Sehun laughs, “and you’re all wet too. I didn’t even need any salve. If I didn’t know any better I would think you were a girl from how wet you are. That’s what you feel like." 

“Shut up.” It’s not a very princely thing to say—inarticulate and immature, but Jongin can’t help it. Other princes have never had to put up with Oh Sehun, he thinks. The man is insufferable. As if Jongin has not been able to feel the mixture of lube and Sehun’s cum from last night leaking out of him all morning. As if he didn’t touch himself to the thought of it this morning. As if he won’t be feeling it for the rest of the day now, distracting him all through his council meetings. Truly insufferable. Jongin should have him fed to the dogs. 

“Of course—I forget how impatient you always are,” Sehun murmurs in his ear, and Jongin is about to snap back that it’s _not_ impatience, that he simply resents Sehun’s implication, but Sehun starts fucking him, and the words die in Jongin’s mouth. 

God, it’s so good. The intensity, the slide of Sehun’s cock so deep inside him that he aches with it, the rough, overwhelming feeling of taking all of it, whatever Sehun deigns to give him. Jongin craves it. This is what he loves—being fucked, really _fucked_ , helpless, used, worthless, like he’s not a prince, like he doesn’t matter, like his decisions don’t matter, like the most important thing he’ll ever do is make Sehun’s cock feel good. No one has ever given him this before. It is unreasonably, rapturously, all-consumingly good. Jongin will never grow sick of it. If Sehun leaves—no one else could ever take him like this. Would ever dare to. Could even dream of making Jongin feel this good. 

“You like it that much, huh?” Sehun chuckles against the back of his neck. Jongin feels too dizzy and lost in his pleasure to know if he's said any of his thoughts aloud but it doesn’t matter; he has always been an open book. He gets chastised for it constantly—a prince must appear calm and impartial, must have an inscrutability that inspires confidence in his men —but Jongin cannot help it. And here, with Sehun, he’s always had the most trouble of all. 

“I have to meet with the council after this,” Jongin says, even though he wasn’t planning on attending the meeting. “Hurry up. And when you finish don’t cum inside of me. It makes sitting uncomfortable.” 

“You like it. Why do you always lie about liking it?” 

Somehow, Sehun always knows. Jongin doesn’t understand how, but he’s right. And he’s grateful, in a way, for this dynamic between them, which allows Jongin to lie in an attempt to save face, while Sehun gives him what he wants anyway. Maybe that’s why he likes to press at Sehun so much, constant little jabs and digs that always end in Sehun retaliating with exactly what Jongin craves. 

“I hate it,” says Jongin, “ I can feel it leaking out of me while I’m sitting there. It’s disgusting and unseemly.” 

“Whore,” Sehun says, “I know you enjoy it. I know you touch yourself at night to the memories of being forced to sit there, all prim and serious and proper, and all the while you can feel my spend dripping down the back of your thighs. 

God. _God_. He’s right. He’s so right and Jongin feels drunk from the pleasure of it all, the stretch, the slide of Sehun’s cock over his prostate, the wet, filthy noises. He presses his hips back and is rewarded with a derisive laugh from Sehun that has his gut jolting in arousal again, so potent that Jongin thinks he could cum just from this. 

“How strange that the king’s son should be so eager to be cum inside, bred like a stable horse.” 

“I never said—you’re the one who said that,” Jongin stutters out, “I don’t want—ah—” 

"Liar." Sehun laughs. "I don't think you do. I think you want to stay here and be fucked full of my cum, again and again, until you’re so full of it people can smell it on you.” 

"Wh-ah!" Jongin tries to speak, but the sound is cut off as Sehun punches the air out of his lungs with another powerful thrust and he moans unwittingly. Sehun laughs again. Jongin wasn't aware his cheeks were capable of feeling so hot. He presses his forehead against the cool stone of the wall and bites his lip, determined not to moan again. 

"Yes," Sehun drawls conversationally, as though he's not buried so deep in Jongin's ass he can practically feel him in his throat. "And then perhaps I would have you again, and cum on your pretty face, and in your mouth, until you were covered and dripping with it. It would suit you quite well, I think." 

Jongin wants that. Fuck, but he wants that, even if admitting it is something he’ll never be able to do. He squeaks when Sehun grabs a handful of his hair and uses it for leverage to fuck into him harder. He thinks of Sehun coming inside him, imagines himself covered in it and leaking, and feels strange and confused by how good the thought makes him feel, how it makes his cock twitch and spurt precome in interest. How can Jongin want this? It doesn’t make sense. It is all Sehun’s fault. Sehun always makes him think the strangest, most improper thoughts. 

"I despise you," Jongin pants, and he thinks he truly means the words. "You're insufferable—to mention something like that—so vulgar—" 

"Of course," Sehun sounds far too cavalier for someone who is fucking Jongin so hard the sound of their skin slapping together nearly echoes in the hallway. “That’s the appeal of it. Tell me, My Prince, does the thought not excite you? Have you always cared so diligently about propriety?” 

Jongin has hated propriety for most of his life. Being forced to take the throne instead of one of his sisters, being told he is not allowed to spend all day dancing, being required to attend the myriad of dull, endless councils he’s been forced to attend recently as his coronation approaches. And also, secretly, for Sehun to fuck him, for Sehun to love him, for Sehun to be his husband instead of his sister’s. Jongin says nothing. Sehun seems to take his silence as a confession. Perhaps it is one. 

“Have I finally managed to fuck you into silence?” 

He wants to hurt Sehun, somehow, but in this position, with his face pressed into the wall and his arms held behind his back, pleasure will have to do. He clenches down as tightly as he can, and revels in the sudden intake of air behind him—the silence in the wake of Sehun's cruel gloating. It's enough of a victory to have him unable to speak, for a few seconds at least. Jongin clenches down again and feels a strange kind of vindictive pleasure at the shaky exhale Sehun lets out against the back of his neck. 

"God," Sehun groans, "Fuck. You're always so fucking good for me." 

“I’m not—,” Jongin whimpers, "you shouldn’t speak to me that way—I am the future king—" 

Sehun laughs. "Of course," he says, "please forgive me, Crown Prince. I meant to say you're always so good and tight and perfect on my cock, _Your Royal Majesty._ " 

Jongin doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, but Sehun seems to take it in stride, pistoning his hips harder and harder until Jongin feels like his legs will give out. It’s just so much. Sehun is so much, so big, so deep inside him, and here, trapped between Sehun’s unforgiving body and the wall, the only thing Jongin can do is just _take it_. Take everything Sehun gives him. He loves it. 

"Such a shame that you were born a prince," snarls Sehun, and Jongin nods in agreement—is willing to agree with anything, as long as Sehun keeps fucking him like this, keeps making him feel this good— "You'd be much better suited to being a royal concubine I think. You'd like that, wouldn't you? None of the pressure or stress of running a Kingdom and all you have to worry about is being tight enough for the next person that's going to fuck you." 

"Yes," Jongin stutters mindlessly, "I'd like that—I want it—I love being fucked—god..." and it's so good he feels like he could scream, could cry from the raw pleasure coursing through his veins. 

"Look at you," says Sehun, "no shame whatsoever. You act so prim and proper but deep down we both know you want nothing more than to be fucked so hard you forget your own name. You're so desperate you let me take you here, in plain sight, where anyone could see us." 

“I’m not," says Jongin weakly, but there's no bite to his words at all. 

"You are," Sehun snarls, "and we both know it. You let me fuck you here, in this public place, where others could walk in and discover us at any moment, and you'd let me do it again in a heartbeat." 

"I wouldn't," argues Jongin, and he's fully aware of how whiny he sounds but he can't bring himself to sound any different. 

“Lying again,” murmurs Sehun in his ear. “ For that, I’m going to have you here right here in this hallway again tomorrow," and Jongin doesn't say anything because he knows he will, wants Sehun to fuck him again, feels thrilled at the thought of being taken over and over again right here in public. 

"You probably even want to be caught, don't you," says Sehun, and Jongin can't even pretend the thought doesn't excite him, with the way he moans and presses his hips back greedily for more. 

"What a scandal that would be," says Sehun. "The crown prince bent over and begging for his sister's husband to fuck him harder; can you imagine what people would say about it?" 

"Don't," Jongin begs, “don't say it like that—it’s not—” 

"How should I say it then?" asks Sehun. "Do you not want me to fuck you harder?" He punctuates each of his words with a harsh, unforgiving thrust, and Jongin wails, all concern of being discovered forgotten. God, Sehun's cock is perfect. Sehun is perfect. Jongin can't even remember what life was like before his sister's engagement. How did he spend his days, who did he fantasize about at night, who did he invite into his bed before Sehun? It’s all a distant, muted blur now. 

“Sehun,” he says—whines, and Jongin knows he shouldn’t but it’s so _hard_ when he’s this close to coming, “it’s so good—make me cum—please, I want to cum—” 

And just like that, Sehun stops. “No,” he says, “if you want to cum do it yourself. Fuck yourself on my cock.” 

The wave of fury that passes through Jongin sizzles out as quickly as it starts. Threatening or ordering Sehun around will get him nothing, and begging will only damage his pride because Sehun will never allow him to live it down. Sehun never lets him live anything down. And Jongin desperately wants to cum. 

Jongin is aware of the fact that Sehun resents him. And maybe it isn’t fair that Sehun was sent away from his family’s kingdom with next to nothing, while his older brother takes over the throne, but it’s not Jongin’s fault. Jongin has no more control over Sehun having an older brother than he does over the fact that he himself only has older sisters. 

Jongin’s court is good to Sehun; there is an abundance of fresh food and sweet wine, expensive garments, palace dances, good horses, anything a prince could ever long for in Jongin’s opinion. Yet Sehun remains dissatisfied—and seeks to reconcile his grievances solely by tormenting Jongin. 

And Jongin hates him because it would be unfitting of a prince to not seek to maintain his honor after being insulted by a lesser member of the court. And because, well, he always does things like this. 

“You—“ he starts, but doesn’t bother finishing his sentence. God, Jongin hates him. Almost more than he wants to cum. Almost, but not quite. 

He presses his hips back, feels Sehun slide deeper inside of him, but the movement feels awkward and clumsy. He tries again, and gradually manages to build up a faltering rhythm, but it’s much too slow to ever make him cum. Jongin feels frustrated and awkward and insecure. Is Sehun going to laugh at him? And what if Jongin can’t make him cum? Will he tease him for not knowing how to make others feel good? Jongin doesn’t want to be in charge. He doesn’t want to have the responsibility of making Sehun feel good. He doesn’t even want the responsibility of making himself feel good. And with this thought, he’s hit with the overwhelming urge to cry. He stops moving and blinks at the wall a few times. Even if Sehun ridicules him, Jongin won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing his tears. 

“Why did you stop?” Sehun’s voice sounds tight, worn down so that his impatience is nearly breaking through. Jongin would gloat if his throat didn’t ache so much. 

“I don’t—” Jongin tries, and winces when his voice cracks. This is humiliating. He hates Sehun. He _hates_ Sehun. 

“I just don’t want to do it like this—I wish you would—can’t you just—” Jongin cuts himself off again with a sniffle, and wills himself not to cry. Sehun is cruel. And the world is cruel, too, for making Jongin crave him so desperately. 

“Pitiful.” Sehun tuts, “you really can’t do anything, can you?” Jongin's throat burns, and he feels weak and pathetic. Maybe Sehun is right. How can Jongin be expected to rule a country when he can’t even do something as mundane as this? Does the obscene nature of the task spare him from its banality? Surely not. Even a lowly peasant girl is capable of such things. But Jongin is spared from his worries when Sehun begins to fuck him again. 

“All you know how to do is take cock,” Sehun says, and Jongin doesn’t argue because it’s all he wants to know; this, here, is all he wants, to feel like this always. 

“Gonna cum inside you,” Sehun mutters, “gonna fill your sloppy hole up,” and Jongin revels in it, in the tightness of Sehun’s hands on his hips and the feeling of being speared harshly on Sehun’s cock as he thrusts into him with abandon. He thinks of trying to sneak his hand down to touch himself, but can’t bring himself to. The sensation of being fucked for someone else’s pleasure is too good. Jongin wants to be used. 

He knows that Sehun is cumming when his thrusts lose their rhythm and become choppy and sporadic, and Sehun groans quietly against the back of his neck. Jongin presses his hips back, trying to help milk Sehun through his orgasm, and moans at the feeling of wet warmth building inside of him. He wants to treasure it. What a shame he can’t be filled with Sehun’s cum always. 

Sehun stops moving and rests his sweaty forehead against the back of Jongin’s neck, panting. Jongin tries not to smile. He secretly craves these moments most of all, when Sehun’s arms are around him and all of the walls between them have been broken down, so nothing is left but raw intimacy, unpolished and perfect. It will end though. Jongin knows that the moment will only last as long as it takes Sehun to catch his breath, and sure enough quickly—far too quickly—Sehun is straightening up, pulling back and fixing his robes. Jongin whimpers at the feeling of Sehun’s cock sliding out of his body. 

“Turn around.” Sehun’s voice is surprisingly soft when he speaks. Jongin turns around, half afraid of what he’s going to find. He still wants to cum, but if Sehun orders him not to, calls him a worthless whore, tells him he hasn’t earned it...Jongin’s stomach twists pleasantly. It’s not that idea that scares him. If Sehun acts repulsed by him though, calls him pathetic again—it’s a different story entirely. But that wouldn’t be fair. Jongin let Sehun use his body to make himself feel good. And he’s not obligated to return the favor—Jongin would have let Sehun have him even if he never returned the favor, though he nearly always has—but the least he can do is treat Jongin like a human being, right? What is hate, in the face of decorum? Does it not pale in comparison? Jongin is not the only prince here. 

Sehun drops to his knees and takes Jongin’s cock in his mouth, swallowing it down easily. And maybe Jongin would have been embarrassed, once, at how easily Sehun does it when Jongin himself can never fit all of Sehun in his mouth, but Sehun’s tongue is hot and _wet_ and when he slides three fingers back inside Jongin and starts to massage over his prostate Jongin is finished, all thoughts of shame or embarrassment gone as he cries out and spurts down Sehun’s throat. Sehun doesn’t stop there though and keeps massaging and with his fingers and sucking until Jongin feels like he’ll _die_ if he cums any more, like he’s been wrung completely dry, fucked until he has nothing left to give. 

Jongin winces as Sehun pulls his fingers out, and then sinks down the wall so he’s sprawled on the ground. His head swims, and the occasional aftershocks traveling up his spine makes his whole body feel soft and floppy. How does Sehun always do that; how does he make Jongin cum so hard, pull orgasms from his body that are so good and strong they leave him dizzy and weak afterward? What does he do with his hands, his cock, his body, that Jongin himself can’t recreate, even with all the knowledge and lifetime of experience he has with his own body? It doesn’t make sense. It should be impossible for someone to be better at touching Jongin’s own body than himself. But maybe it’s not the way Sehun touches him. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it’s Sehun himself who does it, solid and warm and real inside Jongin’s body in a way even his most vivid fantasies can never quite replicate. It’s just Sehun. 

Jongin is forced out of his reverie by the feeling of his jaw being harshly pried open. 

It hurts. Sehun’s fingers, which look rather dainty upon first inspection, are shockingly strong. Jongin whimpers as they dig into his cheeks, forcing his jaw apart. 

Sehun looks down at him, with his eyes overflowing with contempt, and Jongin blinks back at him. They sit there for a few seconds, Jongin sprawled messily on the ground with his mouth open and Sehun standing above him, looking down at him, and then Sehun bends down and spits right into Jongin’s mouth. 

Jongin chokes. His tongue is flooded with bitterness and he realizes that Sehun didn’t swallow anything when he finished Jongin off, and his mouth is now full of his own cum. But apparently, Sehun isn’t finished yet. His fingers dig into Jongin’s jaw again, this time forcing it shut, before spitting onto Jongin’s face again, square in the middle, so his nose and mouth and cheeks are dripping. 

“Swallow it.” Jongin does, wincing at the feeling of the slimy mixture of cum and saliva sliding down his throat. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his sleeve and feels more of the mess smear across his cheeks. 

“Good boy.” Sehun pats his cheek, then wipes his fingers on Jongin’s hair. Jongin doesn’t know whether to melt at Sehun’s touch or shove his hand away. He compensates by staying perfectly still, but he can’t help the strange sensation that wells up deep in his gut. He’s filthy. He feels ruined, and sordid, and ashamed because he loves the feeling 

“A perfect mess,” Sehun smiles at him, and it’s cold and distant, but Jongin’s stomach still clenches. He feels a little bit of wetness leak out of him and the feeling in his gut intensifies and sharpens until it’s unmistakably arousal, despite Jongin just having cum. Wretched. He doesn’t know how he can want more already but it’s always like this with Sehun. Jongin always wants more. 

"I hate you," says Jongin, for the umpteenth time, because he can't think of anything else to say. Sehun's cum feels hot and sticky as it drips down the back of his thighs. 

"If you want me to come to your chambers again tonight darling, all you have to do is ask." Sehun ruffles Jongin's hair before starting to walk away. Jongin feels absolutely wretched. He hates Sehun. He hates himself. 

"Wait," he croaks out, and half hopes Sehun doesn't hear. If only he were that lucky. Sehun pauses, then turns around. "Please." Jongin stares determinedly at the ground. The idea of seeing the smug look that he knows is on Sehun's face is unbearable. 

"Of course," Sehun does a mocking, sycophantic bow, sweeping his arm to the side and bends so low he's nearly parallel with the ground. "Anything for the future king." 

Jongin despises him. 

**Author's Note:**

> so i went through a slight crisis with this fic bc i wrote all the dialogue in a way that seemed like? vaguely period-appropriate—I'm not really sure when this takes place but I basically didn't use a lot of conjunctions, but then I decided that it sounded super stilted and that people probably dont wanna read period dialogue when they're reading porn. But then i remembered that episode of new girl where she's trying to rent a porno n she's like 'do u have anything from the Byzantine period' and I was like 'maybe ppl DO find period speech sexy!' but I didn't change it back bc i was still unsure and also a little lazy. also i changed the spelling of 'come' to 'cum' bc apparently ppl also find that sexier but i'm not entirely sold on it!! idk!! it feels like a fake word to me! but then I was like what is a real word anyway, if not something that is used by speakers of a language for a specific purpose? language is constantly evolving and maybe I am just being a stick in the mud calling 'cum' a fake word when it has functional everyday use! so I am still undecided. 
> 
> let me know in the comments what u think about can't versus cannot and come versus cum!! or if u do not feel up to it bookmarks and kudos are also always greatly appreciated <3
> 
> this fic is by no means long enough to justify such a rambling author's note but honestly, my hubris knows no bounds. it cannot be tamed. I'm not super thrilled w how this turned out but it's also been ages since I've written anything and I'm very proud of myself for finishing it (and hopefully breaking my 6-month writer's block.) it's also 15 days late but we're just gonna ignore that <3
> 
> i love u all very much. thank you for reading!


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